Why do we do it..?

I HOPE the (non)-decision makers at the Toon are reading this, as it may cast some light in their dark places.

Why do we, as humans , choose to shoot ourselves in the foot or rain on our own parades?

The ability to self-sabotage we’ve all got it, whoever we are - you don’t have to be Rosanne Barr to be a career kamikaze (although racism and stupidity have always been inseparable bedfellows).

Over the years it’s been called the devil on your shoulder; the inner critic; just plainly your daft side and it’s there just waiting for it’s moment to throw a mankey great spanner into the most positive situations.

Drink can sometimes be blamed - but not always! It’s almost as if the ‘what’s the worst thing you can say or do’ button is overridden and pressed by that radgie part of your personality.

It can strike at any time: the head of IBM’s decision to chase a young Bill Gates warning him that ‘ no home would ever want a computer.’

Gerald Ratner publicly announcing his jewellery was c**p or Ruud Gullit’s decision to leave Alan Shearer on the bench in 1999’s Tyne/Wear water polo derby (it seems like a lifetime since we won one Mr Ashley - woe to he who knows the cost of everything but the value of nowt?)

Most aren’t aware they are doing it - until it’s too late and it’s out there!

I remember a mate being confronted by a potentially violent gang of heed-the-balls in a pub in a far off town.

As is normally the case, it was the little, skinny gobby one causing all the bother because of the presence of his X-men giant, steroidenhanced freak of a mate standing silently behind him.

My pal was doing a great job of talking his way out of things, when a little stage whisper in his head suggested: ‘Say this, it’ll be hilarious’; so, in a voice he swears was not his own, he blurted: ‘Just one question mate, does Godzilla not speak or do ye, as his keeper like, just translate.’

Pow! Ping! Crunch! etc... Disturbingly, the inner saboteur can be more subtle too - you drive down a darkened, rain-lashed motorway at 2am, exhausted eyes bulging like whippets wotsits, when suddenly, your fuel warning light winks on and you have just passed a sign that announced services one mile or 40 miles. You are just about to sensibly turn off into the rapidly approaching Leicester Forest East Services, when the inner radgie squawks into life like a satanic Satnav and says: ‘Just keep gannin, man - that fuel light’s just for wasics, lightweights and auld grannies. Forty miles is nowt - ye can do it on fumes - howay man, grow a set and put ya foot doon!’

You then enter the sweat and ear drenched ride that is something like Sandra Bullock driving that bus in Speed.

You glance at the dashboard, gotta keep at 60, that’s optimum fuel efficiency, you need a wee and you’ve already thrown the Nosebag sized pack of Fruit Pastilles onto the back seat in a vain attempt to stop you scoffing the lot.

Diesel, bladder or the willpower not to eat anymore of the damned pastilles; which will give out first?

You end up in a lay-by with no fuel, a gob full of Ketts and a damp seat - the inner gremlin has struck again! From own goals like Prince Harry’s fancy dress Nazi costume (thank god that didn’t come out again for the stag night) to Cockney salad-dodger Mike’s annual end of season press release that every penny generated will go to Rafa (what, the whole Jar Mike? Even the 20p pieces too?)

Clearly, the inner wrecking radgie is eternally alive and well!

Let’s hope the powers that be at the Toon ignore theirs for a wee while - no Kinnear comebacks, resigning Dennis Wise as a player or renaming SJP the Chaz and Dave arena. Just for a change!

■ Mike is performing his own brand new one hour show, ‘Shearer shared me Pram - a tale of heroes, legends and tuppence back on the bottle’ at the Stand Comedy Club in Newcastle on Monday June 25. Tickets available now.